


Fanfare for the Common Man

by invisibledeity



Series: God Complex [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bad Touch Chancellor, Deception, Impersonation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, spoilers for episode prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 14:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/pseuds/invisibledeity
Summary: Set between the events of Sugar in the Sacrament and the Gralea chapters.In the snow-capped mountains of Niflheim, Prompto has confronted his past and emerged victorious. It would be remiss if Ardyn did not see to the sendoff, however.Contains spoilers for Episode Prompto





	Fanfare for the Common Man

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't not prep for the next installment of this series after the frustrating end of Episode Prompto, so here you go. I have some very strong ideas about the episode. 
> 
> Also, I loved Ardyn's victory fanfare at the end, and this title is a homage of sorts to that. I can imagine Ardyn being the kind of person who would listen to a band as overblown as ELP, so it seemed fitting.

The sun is at its zenith and the light shatters in crystal arrays across the valley where we stand to say our farewells. The serpentine metal form of Verstael’s short-sighted corruption lies in tatters behind us, a monument to your power. And to my own.

            My, what a team we make.

            You’re looking right into my eyes and you’re giddy in your triumph, you’re near-on weightless as you hop from foot to foot, hovering by the snowmobile all elated and flushed from the exertion. In a word: sublime.

            ‘Thanks… Aranea.’

            Your eyes sparkle and I can tell you truly mean those words. By now, I’ve spent enough time watching your frenzied attempts at pleasing others to know what’s genuine and what’s not.

            I could trace a finger so slowly down that freckled face, but I don’t. I smile, and give you a short wave as I lean back, making sure my hips swing ever so slightly. Grey hair sways about my face, impedes my view of you by a fraction, and I brush it away. Clear the lens so it’s just you at the centre.

            You’re about to leave, to ride off into the snowfields without me. It’s difficult not to jump back onto the snowmobile behind you, difficult to stop myself slipping my hands round your waist to press up against your back. We’ve performed this straightforward action so many times these past days, and it really is so easily done. So simple your surrender, and I’ve savoured every moment even as I’ve detested the jealousy it breeds. I know you wouldn’t do the same if I was to stop wearing her face. And, my dear boy, that hurts more than you can imagine.

            I hold back. Your eyes are bright and clear, a perfect mirror of the icy blue sky. You made it out the other side of the labs, thanks to the guidance of yours truly. Oh yes, I have purified you. And I am quite proud of how well you performed. Slaying those inner daemons with such poise and tear-stroked perfection. And, despite being offered ample opportunity, you uttered not a word about our time together in Luciafeiringsdal. Perhaps you are learning.

            Oh, how I hate saying goodbye. But I keep that soft, full-bodied pose, hand angled on one hip, and I keep that warm expression firm upon my face as you smile bright, light up my world, then kick the snowmobile into gear, driving off all spirited and full of determination. Bless you, truly, for thinking you’re able to handle what’s to come.

            I wait until you’ve all but vanished over the horizon. Then I slide out of Aranea’s lithe form and back into my own, feeling that familiar stretch and twist as my body realigns. My vision turns tinged with red as Aranea’s straight-laced grey strands of hair are replaced by my own, more vibrant colour. My chin itches momentarily and I can’t help but scratch at the returned stubble. The scarf keeps its shape, changing only its colour - how funny that you never seemed to notice that small detail. Warmth returns to my breast as voluminous layers enshroud me, such a difference from her tight leather. Ah, now that’s better.

            Up on the hilltop now, I can see you racing across the plains more clearly. There’s enough of a distance that you won’t possibly notice me, of course. So I crouch down and I follow your silhouette as you leave the valley, _my_ valley, and head on for the dark heart of the Empire.

            This is the only part of the journey you’ll truly make alone. You rely on my help so much, on my little kindnesses. I brought you to my temple, took you into my house, then sent you off to meet your dear father. Funny how you never questioned Aranea dropping in out of nowhere. You were merely content to have her with you, and since then I’ve been by your side every step of the way.

            It’s been fun, my dear boy.

            I sigh, heavy and laboured in the cold air. I can feel that deep well opening up inside me once more. It’s dark and sickly and it snags at my mind, teases heaven out of my grasp. Quite against my will, my expression softens and at first this angers me, draws my hands into tight fists, but I’m tired after these long, cold days spent guiding you to the gates of Hell so eventually I let it happen. The pit in my stomach gapes like an open wound and the longing is unbearable. Too many seconds must pass until I can intervene once more.

            I content myself with planning. I shall let you continue out of Rusciello, and on to the city. I shall wait until you think you’ve almost won. And then - what? Ensnare you, and set your mind into disarray once more, play you like a fiddle. Tease you apart like tangled threads, crack you and put you back together again. Never mind that we didn’t attain divinity together when we communed upon the altar. There’s always more time, and you have a lot more potential than your misguided father did.

            I truly did mean it when I told you I could never grow bored of you. Seeing you interact with what you thought was Aranea only cemented the feeling. Your every action: a joy to absorb. The bright smiles, the small taps of your hands on your thighs as you hum some upbeat tune. The sadness that creeps in when you assumed Aranea wasn’t looking. And of course, the one utterly delightful moment: watching your attempt at burning that tattoo clean off your skin. Your distraught and tear-streaked face as you held the ember-bright log to your blessed flesh. The exquisite red bloom it brought to your skin - one more mark on a body already so stamped through. Who comforted you in this, your darkest hour? Me. Healing your wounds, knocking some sense into your crestfallen spirit while I knelt over your prone body, your arms all splayed out to the side in that sacred symbol of prostration I enjoy so much.

            Had it not been so wildly out of character for our grey-haired mercenary, I would have done more.

            The wind whistles alongside me, and the hum of an engine fills the air. As requested, the dropship awaits. I had best be on my way.

            I don’t pray to the Six. But I do beg Eos for intercession. A dead and forgotten goddess is fitting, because truthfully I don’t want to be forgiven. There is no guilt over what I do to you. But from one forgotten god to another, I beg her anyway, for too often I terrify myself with the sheer weight of my desires.

            And when I speak I use the old words.

            _Kiriæ, kiriæ._

_Éleos._

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus if you know what the words at the end mean.


End file.
